


messy in mesa

by malibu_island



Category: Sports RPF
Genre: On Hiatus, sort of a reunion fic idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malibu_island/pseuds/malibu_island
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Michael is back into the pool and into the spotlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	messy in mesa

**Author's Note:**

> EVERYONE was asking for one so here is my attempt!

Ryan has known for months that Michael would be swimming at Mesa. He knew Michael, or at least, he used to.

His friend could fool everyone else, but not him.

 

 

He'd landed in Mesa a few days before the meet was due to start. Cullen had met him at the airport, his friend's hand already in the air for a high five.

A little tired, Ryan reaches up and slaps their hands together, pulling him into a hug.

"Hey, Cullen, whassup?" He grins

"Long ass flight man, you beat?"

"Jeah, glad coach didn't book me in for practice tonight."

Cullen laughs, throwing his head back as they start to drag their cases through the arrivals hall.

Once they get through security and into the airport's parking lot, Ryan is incredibly grateful for the lack of paparazzi.

"So, Michael's back." Cullen says absently as the cab pulls away, fiddling with the air conditioning controls.

 _Shit_ , Ryan should have seen this one coming.

"I guess." He replies non commitedly, staring down at the black leather upholstery of the seat.

"You guess." Cullen repeats dumbstruck, and Ryan does seriously not need this, especially not from his best friend, and especially not like, 48 hours before a goddamn meet.

"Look dude, just drop it okay."

Cullen makes an unimpressed huff, but drops it. The rest of the journey is silent, and Ryan kinda feels like an asshole.

  
"Hey listen, dude, I'm sorry about snapping at you and shit-"

Cullen waves him off, smiling, "S'all good, Ry. I always thought MP's kind of an ass, but like if he fucked you over...he's more of a dick than I originally thought."

Ryan tries not to wince at the sympathetic tone in Cullen's voice, "Yeah, well shit happens." he shrugs as they walk into the lobby, "I'm a big guy, I can handle it."

"For real, I wish he wasn't back. I mean, he's good for the sport, but like? I don't know. _I_ sound like a douche now." Cullen laughs, dropping his bag by the reception desk.

"Yo, you never sound like a douche dude. You're just...honest." Ryan admits, signing in on the guestlist form and accepting that it'll probably be a long night.

 

-

 

His five am alarm comes around and smacks him in the face the next day. It's never easy getting up this early for practice, but it's always particularly worse after he's been on a plane.

Cullen's bed next to him is already empty, and Ryan sternly reminds himself that if Cullen was up earlier than five, he doesn't have jack shit to complain about.

He rushes through getting ready, throws on his gear and gets down to the practice pool for half five.

His coach gives him instructions and he takes them before flying off into the pool for the next two hours.

Ryan hits the water, smoothly before he kicks and starts to swim as fast as he can.

Stroke, stroke, breathe.

The water is cool against his burning muscles, all he sees is blue and white tiles.

It's easy to forget everything like this. Forget Michael, forget Cullen. Forget the meet. 

Just him and the pool.

 

Too soon, his coach is blowing the whistle and Ryan hauls himself out reluctantly, listening to his coach give him feedback before he takes off to go straight to the gym.

The gym is a little bit harder, mainly because it's not as isolated and quiet as the pool was. He manages to get through his set, finally finishing off the last set of weights before he wipes himself down. His muscles are _burning_ and his heart is racing as fast as his strokes were this morning.

He gives a customary wave to Connor before letting himself out, heading down the corridor towards the lift.

Ryan feels soaked and when he glances over towards the mirror next to the lifts, he sees his face covered in a sheen of sweat, cheeks burning, hair in spikes where it still hasn't dried from practice.

He hits the button and patiently waits as a lift becomes free, showing 'Ground' and then an up arrow. Some poor loser is going to have to stand in an enclosed metal box with Ryan where-is-the-nearest-can-of-deoderant Lochte.

The lift doors open and Ryan unfolds his arms, stepping forwards, only to freeze dead in his tracks.

There's silence for a few moments, before Ryan manages to get out a squeak

"Michael?"


End file.
